


The Beloved is Ultimate

by Scarecrowqueen



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Fur Fetish, Kink Meme, M/M, Poor Jack waiting a long time for this, Smut, The Groundhog's a total asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:00:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarecrowqueen/pseuds/Scarecrowqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At this point, Jack hasn’t figured out what he is just yet.  He didn’t understand the nature of his desires, or that there was a name for people like him.  In fact, if Jack recalls correctly, at a mere four decades old he didn’t even know what <i>sex</i> was yet, much less the have an inkling of the deviant sort he would come to crave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beloved is Ultimate

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on the ROTG Kink meme, found [here](http://rotg-kink.dreamwidth.org/2389.html?thread=4415573#cmt4415573)
> 
> I aimed for a smutty one-shot, wound up with a plotty one-shot the ends in smut. Go figure.

“Repress the natural and it comes back even stronger: not everyone can be a fetishist”  
\- Philippe Lejeune

Coyote is the first.

At this point, Jack hasn’t figured out what he is just yet. He didn’t understand the nature of his desires, or that there was a name for people like him. In fact, if Jack recalls correctly, at a mere four decades old he didn’t even know what _sex_ was yet, much less the have an inkling of the deviant sort he would come to crave. No, Jack only knew that Coyote had heard rumours of an American trickster, a winter elemental with attention-seeking tendencies and wicked aim with a snowball, and had come to seek him out for courtesy introductions. For Jack, it was the first spirit to have spoken to him in anything more than passing annoyance since arising from the water.

Jack had been effulgent with joy at the attentions of the older Trickster, chattering happily away on a variety of topics as they sat by the edge of his lake. The sun trailed across the sky, eventually sliding lower to meet the horizon when Coyote decided the visit was concluded, standing to bid Jack farewell. The evening’s darkening sun hit him just right a corona of light shooting vibrant streaks through mottled fur, making the dense coat look like burnished gold, soft and inviting. Jack hadn’t even realized he’d succumbed to temptation until Coyote had snapped at the finger’s that had wandered to close for comfort. Jack had jerked his hand back, eyes wide and confused as Coyote had snarled something about refusing to fornicate with a being of ice before dashing off, disappearing so thoroughly into the twilight that Jack had a hard time telling which path the other had even taken into the trees. Hurt and bewildered, Jack had sat there all night, unsure of what fornication even _was,_ wondering what sin he’d committed in just wanting to brush his fingers through such a lovely coat, wandering why he’d even wanted to in the first place, except that there was an aching in his gut and fingertips that had begged him to try.

 

The Second is the fox.

Jack is a good century older than he was when he met Coyote the first time he meets a fox demon. Tricksters don’t stick together per se, mostly because the chaos of having more than one of them in a confined geographical area for longer than a short amount of time usually resulted in the kind of chaos that was difficult to control. It also usually backlashes onto the human populations, which most spirits tried to avoid, as even those that disliked humanity didn’t want to deal with the fallout of having to clean up the resulting mess. So by this point, Jack is peripherally aware of other Tricksters, even knows a few by name and reputation if nothing else. This doesn’t seem to mitigate the knee-jerk reaction he has the first time he crosses paths with the fox.

Jack never manages to get a name from the first other than ‘Three,’ which is a blatant reference to the number of its tails, but they spend a companionable enough afternoon playing small tricks on the neighbouring village. It is after the humans have retired to their residences for the evening that they find themselves in the nearby woods, rolling about like puppies in the snow, laughing and yipping and tussling freely. Three is much larger then a regular fox, easily pinning Jack’s slight weight beneath a lithe, auburn-furred body and once again Jack’s hands betray him, sliding in a gentle touch along Three’s muzzle from nose toward ear.

The fox rears back as if struck, taking a hopping-step off of Jack to put distance between their bodies, a look of disgust in his eyes and for the first time in his immortal life Jack understands what it is to feel shame. Three wastes no time in informing the frost child that they may talk and they may play, but no fox with any self respect would sully themselves by lying with anything two-legged and hairless. Fox leaves in as much of an offended snit as Coyote did, and Jack finds himself curled up again where he was left, ashamed and horrified at him. Over the years Jack had written off his reaction to Coyote as a mix of loneliness and gratitude, but the helpless yearning that had stolen over him when fox was above him was the same he’d felt in his gut sitting beside Coyote. Jack was older now, more worldly then he had been then, he knew now what _fornicate_ meant. Thinking of the implications of his peculiar... _appetites_ in that context however gave him a feeling like a brick in his stomach, making him nauseous and weighing him down with the weight of his disgrace.

 

Raven was not the third.

Raven meets Jack when they nearly collide mid-air, about seven or eight decades after the debacle with the fox. They fly together for a time in lazy loops, conversing idly about the latest in spirit gossip and human current events that might have an impact on the immortal community. It is fact that their capricious natures do not make Trickster’s very popular socially, so it’s the most company Jack’s had since Three. When their time together ends, Raven bids Jack safe travels and flaps off to whence he came. 

Jack learns two things from their encounter, first that glossy feathers are not as intoxicating to him as the promise of a warm pelt. The second is the epiphany that, while he craves the feel of fur under his fingers, no wild animal could satisfy his needs, because at the core of him is the unyielding desire for companionship and conversation, the kind that could only be provided by sentient creatures. Jack isn’t sure at this point if the distinction makes him more, or less, damned.

 

The third is the Groundhog.

Punxsutawney Phil Sowerby is a small-town celebrity currently residing in a town not far from Jack’s native Burgess. Jack had heard rumours of the creature having a whole day dedicated to him, something about shadows and meteorological predictions. It takes Jack years to work up the courage to approach him, though. Jack finally chooses a day in mid-Spring, when his work in North America was done for the year, as the Southern Hemisphere never seemed to require his talents in quite the same way, and so winter there was, therefore, considered Jack’s ‘Off Season.’ Phil is quite genial at first, easily engaging in conversation with the frost child and seemingly not caring about the stigma of Jack’s Trickster status, instead encouraging the boy to share some of his more rowdy stories, and in return regaling him on the trials and tribulations of being such a well-known figure. Their first meeting lasts long into the night and as Jack turns to leave, Phil invites him to return often, citing the winter spirits impeccable sense of humour as spectacular entertainment. Jack has learned well by now to keep his greedy fingers to himself, and so clutches his staff tight with both hands to still wandering fingers as he accepts, promising to return soon.

And return Jack does, once, twice, three and four times. The months stretch on through Summer, Fall, Winter and nearly into to Spring, their interactions growing stronger, evolving at a snail’s pace. Their first kiss is less a traditional human kiss, owing to the strangeness of trying to mesh their respective mouths, and instead degenerates into more of a nuzzling with tongues. Jack is not disappointed in the slightness, grinning widely as Phil allows him to lace his fingers in the scruff at the back of the Groundhog’s neck.

The kiss is a turning point, and not for the better. Jack is on air at first, thrilled by the attentions, thrilled to have what he has so longed for beneath his fingertips, thrilled to have a _boyfriend_ with whom to share his time. It becomes clear to him quickly though, even through the haze of excitement, that something is not right. There is an edge in their interactions now, a cruelty in Phil’s words when he speaks casually of Jack’s invisibility, of Jack’s poor reputation among the other spirits, of Jack’s _obvious sexual deviancy_ and of how _generous_ and _compassionate_ he is to look past all that and spend time with the boy.

Jack has tasted loneliness in his lifetime, has lapped up all the little drops of sorrow sent his way, has felt the cut of negligence and prejudice into his soft underbelly and through all that has come out intact, if not unscathed. Jack is weak in a thousand little ways, many of which Phil had guessed at from their interactions, some of which he was even right about. He was wrong though, when he thought for a single second that Jack was milquetoast or incapable. The resultant breakup leads to a, ugly, vicious fight, which leads to Jack losing his temper as he never has before, which leads a snowstorm the likes of which Midwestern America has not seen. Jack is horrified after when he discovers there is a death toll, furious and self-castigating, weeping openly in the dying snow and bitter cold, the blame like a hundred knives in his ribcage. The day is Easter Sunday, 1968.

 

The Fourth is the Easter Bunny.

The meet at what is Jack’s lowest moment, not that the Rabbit appears to notice. He is wrathful, angry and hurt, tears on his own cheeks as he rips in to Jack. Jack doesn’t argue, doesn’t flinch, just takes it, takes it all because he deserves every word. When the Rabbit is done and has left to salvage what he can of his holiday, Jack is left hollow, wishing he’d been struck, wishing that there had been violence dealt upon him, because Jack would have deserved that too. Jack doesn’t like to think about their introduction much, and as the years pass the memory becomes a sore spot, like a cavity in the back of his mind. Jack ignores it best he can because Jack ignores most things that trouble him. It is ironic, then, that this is the only time Jack has ever met furred spirit he has not desired. The sexual revolution has passed by now, and more and more behaviours once considered shameful and scandalous were now being brought into the light, discussed and in some cases even embraced and championed. Jack exalts the first time a nation votes to allow same sex couples to marry, a bias he has never understood as most immortals didn’t breed in the same way as humans anyway, and so such things as gender were not relevant factors when choosing partners. In fact many spirits didn’t even conform to traditional human standards of gender anyways, so really it was a non-issue.

The fur thing, though, that was a different creature entirely. At least, Phil had made it sound like one, and with both Coyote’s and Three’s reactions to consider, Jack figured he must have been speaking the truth. Even when learning there were mortals out there that shared his proclivities, Jack kept mum on the subject, carrying the taboo inside of him like a dirty handprint on his soul. 

Being made a Guardian was perhaps the best things to have happened to Jack in his immortal life, but perhaps it is also the worst, as he is now in close proximity to Bunny on a regular basis. Jack hadn’t really taken the time to notice during the dust up with Pitch Black, but Bunny has a truly fantastic pelt, all sleek and grey over whipcord muscles, obviously healthy and well-groomed. Most people wouldn’t peg Jack for the kind of person practising rigid self control, but it must be a minor miracle that Jack makes it months without slipping up and crawling into Bunny’s arms and humping like a desperate whore. The feelings are worsened by the fact that Jack and Bunny are actually _friends_ now, a couple of apologies and some minor explanations going a long way to sooth hurt feelings.

Not that Jack had explained every detail of his fight with Phil to Bunny, or even divulged that it had been the Groundhog he’d been seeing, but describing the unhealthy relationship even in the vaguest terms had put a dark, shuttered look in Bunny’s eyes and the Rabbit had been quietly but noticeably more accommodating with Jack ever since. In fact, the more small details about Jack’s centuries of solitude that the others managed to drag out of him appeared to effect them all similarly, until Jack was the proud owner of standing invitations to all of the Guardians homes along with directions to drop by whenever he felt like it. It was both flattering and humbling to the boy who’d only ever experienced friendship as a voyeur, hovering on the outside looking in. 

The situation with Bunny though, that knotted Jack up like nothing else before. It was more than just the fetish by this point, it was the sounds of Bunny’s laugh, the gentleness in his hands when he handles his precious eggs, his patience and appreciation when Jack asked a legitimate question, happy to aid in expanding the other spirits knowledge base. Jack for his part soaked up the attention like a sponge, deliriously happy just to be spending time with the other. His feelings for Bunny grew like weeds, thick and unruly within him, threatening to overspill his borders and go traipsing of on their own to find the source and ruin everything. Jack was overwhelmed with just pushing them down, keeping them contained, but he was helpless to resist the lure of the Warren, spending more time at Bunny’s side then with the rest of the Guardians combined. To Jack, his infatuation was like a monument in his mind, impossible to ignore it’s majesty in the daylight, and something to constantly run into and chase his thoughts around after dark.

When things gave, they gave like a dam collapsing. It should have been any ordinary day in the Warren, wrist deep in the moist soil alongside Bunny, carefully tending to the plants that will eventually birth the eggs for the children of Earth. A comfortable silence lies between them, until Jack thinks of a question to ask his companion. Turning his head to speak, the query dies on his lips and Jack realizes that one long, delicate ear is flopped in his direction, the Rabbit being closer to him then he’d originally thought. It is that that all of Jack’s good intentions and resolves shatters into fine powder as his wayward finger find the incredible softness of the ear. Jack traces the length of it reverently delighting in the fine textures beneath his fingertips. He reaches the end too soon, and, bereft at the loss lifts his hand to repeat the motion.

He is halted in his tracks however as six feet of Rabbit bear down upon him, pressing him so firmly into the earth that Jack imagines he is leaving a teenage boy-shaped indent where he lies. Jack is speechless, terrified of the censure that is sure to follow, so he is shocked nearly incoherent when Bunny buries his face into his neck and _bites,_ sinking blunt teeth into the juncture between neck and shoulder with sure force that Jack feels the skin give. The sound he makes is pained and shocked, certainly, but the moan that follows is pure arousal as a rough tongue gives the abused area the sweetest of licks. Jack is dimly aware of a heady, animalistic sound emanating from the chest pressed to his own before the other levers off him, leaving Jack suddenly unbearably cool in the wake of blazing heat. An unhappy whine tears itself from Jack’s throat unbidden at the loss, but the large, confident paws release his hands and move to his shirt instead, tearing it asunder with such strength is leaves Jack’s mouth dry. His pants are the next victims and then Bunny is back, settling himself between thighs Jack doesn’t remember spreading like he belongs. Jack arches, crying out in ecstasy at the feel of soft, thick fur against his more sensitive of parts; the inside of his thighs, the perineum, the scrotum, his bellybutton and peaked nipples. The sensation nearly tickles as the Rabbit rocks his hips, pressing and not-inconsiderable erection against Jack’s belly alongside his own, smearing both with pre-cum that melts into Bunny’s coat and turns everything into a wonderful sticky mess. Jack is incoherent with it, with the rutting and thrusting, his hands carding through so much _fur,_ running haphazardly down Bunny’s back, then up against the grain, over his shoulders to his chest then back to repeat the cycle, near worshipful in his reverence. Bunny grunts his pleasure into Jack’s neck, teeth worrying at the bite mark he’d left. Jack returns the favour, twisting his face to nibble at the Bunny’s jaw, the short hairs incredible against his lips and as sweet as the finest of chocolate when he laps at the spot with his tongue. The scent of the Rabbit, the texture, the warmth, the taste, the weight; and Jack is lost, fit to explode like a supernova, preparing to see dying stars behind his closed eyelids.

But just on the crest of the wave Bunny stops; pushing off of the smaller body and Jack plummets back to reality, eyes flying open. He reaches for his almost-lover but Bunny is faster, flipping Jack to his stomach and yanking his hips up and back. Jack’s face is mashed into the dirt, and he scrambles to get his knees and arms beneath him to brace when he feels the wet touch of the Rabbits rough tongue to his puckered entrance. Jack _howls,_ fingers gouging deep furrows into the ground and tears wetting the earth beneath his cheek as he presses back into the other’s face insistently. Bunny teases, licking and tasting Jack’s most secret of places before delving in to open the boy up, lapping at Jack’s inner walls as the boy wails in pleasured torment below him. The rush is too much too intense to survive but Jack can’t cum, it’s too much but not nearly enough and even the pricking of Bunny’s claws into the tender skin of his hips isn’t enough to ground him against the tide threatening to drown him. 

With one last, long lick along his crack from balls to hole, Bunny retreats and Jack finds himself sobbing, but in relief or desperation he does not know. Strong paws slide from his hips up his ribs, over his shoulder then down his arms to his hands clenched in the soil. The large, fuzzy appendages cover Jack’s own, the paw-pads smooth against the backs of his hands, their fingers intertwining. The Rabbit’s body had followed the same path, pressing closely to Jack’s back and covering him like a blanket, knees slipping between Jacks to spread his open a bit wider. Jack knows instantly what the blunt pressure at his entrance means and wills himself to relax enough to receive his lover. 

When Bunny breaches him, Jack stops breathing, full to excess with a hot, unrelenting pressure just this side of painful. Jack moans, long and low, pushing himself backwards to speed things along, ignoring the small flare of pain that his haste brings. The rumble of Bunny’s satisfied chuckle vibrates through Jack’s back and into his very soul, lighting him up like a lantern, making him feel cherished, appreciated, _whole,_ and then Bunny begins to _move,_ the push and drag of it overwhelming inside of him, and it’s like the world has collapsed into a black hole and the gravity is pulling Jack clean out of his body and he is _flying falling flying..._

Afterwards, Bunny and Jack slump to the ground, Bunny covering Jack like a fur coat, the sensation an exquisite, hedonistic delight. Jack sighs in satisfaction, pressing himself back into Bunny’s exotic body. The Rabbit strokes the length of Jack’s ribs gently, claws scoring at the spirit’s skin just enough to be intriguing. Jack is sated, warm, incredibly comfortable, and he can’t imagine anything better than being where he is right now. Against his back, Bunny shifts a little, pressing a re-awakened erection to Jack’s loosened hole, while the explorations of his hand growing bolder, more intimate, more erotic. Jack smiles into the ground before twisting himself in his lover’s hold, drawing the Rabbit between his spread legs in an open invitation, pressing a single, sweet kiss to a cold, wet nose.

The Easter Bunny was the fourth, but he was also the last, and there is none more pleased by this then Jack.

“The beloved is the ultimate fetish.”  
\- Mason Cooley

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted to My Dreamwidth, Fanfiction.net and the ROTG Kink Meme


End file.
